


The Great Escape

by DarlingCera



Category: Criminal Minds, Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: Crossover, Death, Fluff, Grief, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Zugzwang
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-05
Updated: 2014-02-05
Packaged: 2018-01-11 06:21:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1169725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarlingCera/pseuds/DarlingCera
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the weeks following Maeve Donovan's death, Spencer Reid escapes to England on a trip that been meant for two, where he meets MI6's youngest quartermaster. Eventual fluff and relationship stuff. Written to rectify the lack of QReid on A03.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Great Escape

Spencer Reid had saved up for ten months, a portion of his paycheck and the little bit of royalties he earned from publishing research and doing some side work for text books and universities.   
That money had gone to a pair of plane tickets and hotel accommodations. He was going to take his first real vacation in years, and he couldn’t wait. The anticipation mounted and he knew she would say yes. They had talked about traveling in the hundreds of letters that had gone back and forth between the two of them over the course of their relationship. The stack of letters was thick and pouring out of it’s shoebox.   
Spencer couldn’t have seen it coming. That singular instant when all of his daydreams, along with the ones that filled his mind at night came to a sudden abrupt end with the sound of gunfire and the creeping pool of blood that he didn’t stop from creeping up to his brown loafers. It was hers. It wasn’t dirty. He was too shocked to move, regardless.   
Maeve was gone, and their date of departure was a month away. The trip was supposed to be a surprise, a get away for him and the only person who made him feel alive.   
The tickets didn’t occur to him until a week after Dr. Maeve Donovan was cold in the ground.  
He went home and took out the envelope holding the two tickets before dialing Hotch.  
“Listen” he said “I’m going to stay on leave a while. I’ve got tickets to England for three weeks. I was going to go with Maeve, and I think it would be a good way to you know…honor her memory?” He said, not liking the way that that sounded.  
Hotch didn’t hesitate to give him the leave he needed and he let out a sigh of relief as he hung up the phone.   
The days went by in a flurry of planning and preparation, his suitcase was packed and ready to go and he boarded his flight the next morning after yet another sleepless night.  
The seat next to him was empty, and he stared blankly at it until his eyes grew tired and he drifted into a light sleep.   
The plane landed at Heathrow just as Spencer was reading through The Narrative of John Smith for the fourth time. He tucked the book into his messenger bag and got off of the plane.   
He waited at baggage claim, still feeling as empty as he had when he’d left.   
The cab driver took him to the small, furnished flat where he would be spending the next month of his life trying to push passed what seemed to be an all-consuming grief.   
Spencer spent the first day settling in and waiting out the jet-lag, unpacking his suitcase into the closet and getting used to the taste of new water.   
On a Saturday, he ventured out into the city, looking at whatever he could look at, going in and out of shops and buildings, finally settling on a park bench with a cup of coffee.  
The afternoon was quiet and the sky was a shade of somber grey. He needed to get back to his flat before it rained, but he almost didn’t care if he got soaked.   
Spencer sipped his coffee, imagining how nice it would have been to sit here with her. They could have talked on this bench all day if they had wanted to. Her eyes would be as bright as daylight and her smile would be a spectacular sight to behold.  
Lost in his thoughts, Spencer didn’t notice the new presence on the bench.   
“It’s nice isn’t it?” The man who had just sat down asked. “Quiet. I like it.”  
Spencer nodded.   
The stranger was small, with delicate features and scruffy black hair. His eyes were a bottle green behind glasses and he was dressed similarly to Spencer in trousers, a shirt and a cardigan, but with the addition of ankle boots and a heavy black parka.   
“Yeah, it’s nice. I like it here. But I like it where I’m from too. I’d live here if I didn’t like it there.” Spencer’s words were garbled and he felt stupid, but this was the first person he had spoken to since his phone call with Hotch, and he was surprisingly delighted to have human contact once more.   
“I don’t see why anyone would want to live here. So you’re from America?” The man asked, noting Spencer’s accent.  
“Yeah. He replied,” born in Las Vegas and I live in Washington DC. Which is different than Washington State. Completely opposite side of the country.”  
“DC? Do you do government work?” The man asked.  
“Yeah, I’m actually an FBI agent. Behavioral analysis unit, Quantico Virginia. I um…I catch serial killers. America is the serial killer capitol of the world.” He was rambling, but it almost felt good to do so.   
“I’m government too.” He said “MI6, though I’m not at liberty to say exactly what my job is. What’s your name?” The smaller man was trying to divert the conversation away from work.  
“Spencer.” He replied  
“I go by Q. Unfortunately, my name is classified information as of right now.”Q was teasing, but he knew it probably wasn’t smart to get involved right away. 

“It’s a pleasure to meet you.” Spencer gave him a weak smile and offered his hand, which the other man shook.   
They made small talk for another hour, parting with plans for coffee the next day. Spencer felt the loneliness subside, if only in the slightest bit.   
He went back to the flat, and went to bed after heating up dinner and taking a shower.   
He woke up at noon the next day, the sleeping pill he had taken the night before was obviously a good idea.   
Spencer looked at the address on the card that Q had given him the day before as he got into a cab. He told the driver where to go and they were off, anticipation at seeing his new friend building up inside of him and threatening to burst forth in a flood of excitement. Spencer couldn’t remember being this excited for coffee with someone that he had just met.   
The idea of actual conversation with someone who wasn’t secretly pitying him or wondering if he was on some sort of metaphorical edge was thrilling, and a weak smile spread across his cheeks when Q entered the coffee shop.


End file.
